Style: Conspiracy
by Suyuness
Summary: "And now, the president of the USA!" The president—a pale, red-haired man—waved to the crowd, a grin plastered on his face, as he stepped up to the microphone. He was just about to speak when a bullet ripped through the air and cut into his shoulder.
1. Prologue

Well, this is my second Style fic I've ever written, but the first that I felt like writing. =3 I came up with the idea for this at, like, three in the morning, so—

Cartman: Shut the fuck up, Allie. Nobody cares.

Kyle: No, you shut the fuck up, fat ass. These are the damn author's notes, so she can say what she wishes.

*fight commences between Cartman and Kyle* Hm… Who do you think'll be the winner?

Stan: GO KYLE! Oh, and, none of the characters mentioned do not belong to Allie, they belong to Trey Parker and Matt Stone.

* * *

_**Conspiracy — Style

* * *

**_

_Prologue

* * *

_

_Lazy clouds._

_ Shimmering moon._

_ Dancing stars._

That's what shone in the sky as a profound man stepped his way through a dark alley. He had a meeting planned and he most certainly had to get there in time. It was much to important of a meeting to miss… He'd surely die if that snake in the grass lived a day longer.

_Overflowing trash cans._

_ Rats skittering out of the way._

_ Shadows hiding nearly everything._

That was the only scenery as the man came to a stop outside what seemed like an abandoned building. How disgusted the man was of the scene before him. But what did he expect? That damn rat had let this part of the town go to waste. Not that the man blamed him; he'd've done the same thing.

_Creaking door._

_ Musty air._

_ The stench of death._

"So you finally showed up, huh?"

_Messy blonde hair._

_ Tattered parka._

_ Striking blue eyes._

"You knew I wouldn't miss this meeting for my life."

_Tense atmosphere._

_ Hatred flowing freely._

_ Wealth and poverty mixing._

"Why did you want to see me, anyways? I thought you couldn't stand the poor."

_Harsh accusations._

"Because you're the only one who can do the job I want done."

_Blunt explanations._

"And what would that be?"

_Suspicious curiosity._

"I want you to kill the president."

* * *

Wow. =3 I'm proud of myself for that. Now, beware, that's not going to be the story's style, oh no no no. It's going to be like a regular story. I just felt like writing it that way. Also, tell me what you think. (And I'll give kudos to those who can guess who the president is!)

Kyle: *sits on top of Cartman, victorious* HA! I win, fat ass!

Riiiiight… I forgot about their little fight. =w=' Haha… But, anyways, go Kyle! :D


	2. Chapter One: Failed Assassination

_**Conspiracy — Style**_

_ "And now! For the president of the United States of America!"_

Cheers echoed wildly through the air as the announcer stepped back to allow the forty-eighth president to take the podium. The president—a pale, lanky, red-haired man—waved to the crowd, a grin plastered on his freckled face, as he stepped up to the microphone. He was just about to speak when a bullet ripped through the air and cut into his shoulder, sending everyone into a frenzy.

_"Mr. President! The president's down! Secure the area! Move, move!"_

A raven-haired bodyguard ran to the fallen president's side. "Mr. President? Mr. President, are you okay?" he demanded as soon as he reached the ginger-haired man. He elevated his pale leader with his arms so as to get a better look at the gunshot.

The freckled ruler's eyes fluttered open when the black-haired man called his name. "Yes... Yes, I'm fine, Stanley," he tried to assure the man. He attempted to hoist himself up, but winced at the pain that shot through his arm when he put pressure on it. However, he didn't want Stan to see that he _wasn't_ actually okay, so he gritted his teeth against the pain and lifted himself up the rest of the way. "I'm alright, don't worry," he panted, smiling gravely.

Stan's eyebrows furrowed with worry and he lowered his voice so the other agents that were rushing around the two couldn't hear him. "Are you sure, Kyle? You look like you're in a lot of pain," he whispered, addressing the freckled man by his first name.

Kyle waved Stan's distress away with the flick of his wrist. "Oh, calm down, Stan. I'm fine, okay?" His eyes softened when he saw how worried Stan really was about him and he hugged him with his good arm. Stan, taken aback by his friend hugging him despite the fact that his arm was hurt, tentatively hugged him back. After a second, Kyle pulled back and queried, "Now do you believe me?"

Stan nodded although he was still a little uncertain. He's known Kyle long enough not to argue too much which him, but that still didn't mean he couldn't worry silently about him. "If you say so, Kyle," he murmured, despite his thoughts.

"Would you two get the fuck up and come on before whoever shot at Kyle tries to finish the job?"

The pair jumped at the sound of a voice behind them. When they turned to see who had spoken, they came face-to-face with the crotch of a still-unknown man. They looked up, twin blushes creeping across their noses, to get a better look at the man in a way other than one that could called sexual. This time, their gazing heeded better results, and they realized that the man had light brown hair, with matching hazel eyes, and was stout in stature. He wore a light brown suit with an even lighter tie, and he seemed quite annoyed at something.

"Yes, we will, Eric," Kyle answered, ignoring the man's obvious agitation. He stood up (quite painfully) with the help of Stan, and he leaned heavily on the raven-haired agent's shoulder. "Stanley here was just checking on me, is all."

"Well, it seemed more like some kind of faggy scene in a movie," Eric scoffed, rolling his eyes. He glared at his red-haired superior as if him getting shot had somehow pissed him off, then turned around and walked off without another word.

Stan and Kyle watched the retreating form of the vice president silently, then Stan murmured, "Come on, let's get you to a hospital."

* * *

Stanley Marsh and Kyle Broflovski had been friends for as long as they could remember. They'd met in first grade after the Marshes had moved to a small, country town in the mountains. Stan had just had a bad bout of the cold that turned into pneumonia, and was still rather weak. The air from the big city wasn't helping his condition any, so the family of four moved to where the fresh air and calm atmosphere resided to see if that helped him in anyway.

Stan's family had moved into the house next to the Broflovski's, so it was only natural that the two began to hang out. They were so much alike – they even enjoyed playing the same games and eating the same foods – so that only added to the blooming friendship. They shared a class every year up until middle school, in which they rarely shared a class other than gym. When high school rolled around, they shared a few more classes, and they had free period together.

It was at this time that the two began… experimenting. Stan had long ago come out that he was gay—much to nobody's surprise—and Kyle… well, he did everything and anything he could to spite his bitch of a mom. From fucking everything that moved to flunking his tests to getting high after school in his bedroom. You think it, he did it. Of course, his mom would always find out somehow, and of course, she always grounded him for it. But, in all honesty, that never stopped him. If anything, it made him spite her _more._

Okay, so Kyle had already done some experimenting, but that was to piss his mom off. What he and Stan did was a different story. They did the things they did because they had _feelings. _Not the I'm-so-horny-let's-fuck feelings; the I-need-to-feel-you-against-me-now-because-I-love-you-so-much-and-need-you feelings. Of course, the two never really considered what they're feelings meant, but they skipped classes—and sometimes school altogether—just to explore these feelings.

College slowly crept up on the two, and they parted ways, much to neither's pleasure. Stan joined the police forces in Washington D.C., and Kyle made himself a name in business and politics. He eventually earned himself the title as 'Governor,' then moved on up the ladder to 'Senator,' then, after so many years, he earned him the topmost title in the country—President. Stan, on the other hand, also made himself a name, except it was in the career of crime fighting. He eventually got accepted into the CIA after years of hard work, and he climbed up the stairs to 'Executive Director.'

When Kyle started to run for president, he and Stan met up for the first time in ten years. They discussed how the other had been doing for the past while, and went out to a bar to celebrate their success. Of course, the two got drunk.

**oOo**

"You know, Stan," Kyle slurred after his umpteenth shot of scotch. He set his glass down and looked fuzzily at his black-haired friend. "I want to make a pact with you." His cheeks were flushed from drinking so much, and he hiccupped every-so-often. Stan merely gazed back, his gaze nearly as fuzzy as his red-headed friend's. "If I become president, then you have to work as a bodyguard for me."

Stan stared blankly for a second, blinked, blinked again, then said bluntly, "What?" It wasn't like he hadn't heard his once-upon-a-time-lover, he just merely didn't comprehend what the ginger was asking.

"I want you to – _hic – _be my bodyguard if I become president," Kyle repeated in the same cool and collected manner as before. He moved his hand to rest on the raven-haired man's and squeezed it gently. "Please?" He looked at Stan through half-lidded eyes, and Stan sighed, giving in to his friend's pleas.

"Alright, Kyle," Stan agreed with much disdain. "If you become president, I'll be your bodyguard."

**oOo**

Of course, Kyle became president and Stan stuck by his word. Even if the two had been drunk, Kyle had somehow miraculously remembered their little agreement. Stan was quite sad to leave his job as Executive Director—it paid well, after all—but he didn't mind all that much after thinking about it for a little bit. He got to spend as much time as he wanted with his friend and not be called a fag for it (not that he cared, mind you), plus being the bodyguard of the most important person in the country had some awesome perks to it. You got paid extravagantly, had complete access to the White House's many great rooms and pools, and all the food you could wish for. Stan, of course, actually found it pretty cool to work for the president, and has worked with him since.

* * *

Stan stood next to Kyle (who had just gotten his shoulder cleaned and patched up) as he was questioned on what had happened when Kyle had been shot. Normal questions like "What did you see just before the shot was fired?" and "Are you sure that's all you remember?" basically summed up the whole interview. It wasn't long until the officer/CIA/FBI/whatever-they-were left and left the two alone.

An awkward silence passed between the pair, and it was Stan who broke it. "Is your arm feeling better?" he queried, slight worry clinging to his otherwise-harmless words. Kyle blinked, a bit confused at first, then nodded.

"Yeah, it doesn't hurt as much now," the ginger answered, lifting his arm (which was in a sling) to look at it, and sighed. "I don't see what's the big fuss. So I got shot? Woopdy-fucking-do." He sneered at his injury, as if it could make the wound disappear.

Stan looked at his boss, stunned. How could he say that? "Kyle, you almost got killed! Of course it's a big deal!" he nearly shouted in frustration. Kyle just merely looked at him calmly, and the raven-haired man's anger immediately subsided. That red-head had such a controlling gaze… No wonder he became president. "Sorry," Stan apologized. "I… When you got shot, I was scared for your life. I mean, we're best friends, right?"

Kyle patted Stan's arm understandingly. "Of course we are, dude," the ginger assured his bodyguard. He smiled at using such informal speech after so long. "Super duper best friends until the end; you know that." He linked his good arm in Stan's and started out of the room. "I won't be dying on you anytime soon; you can be sure of that."

Stan smiled slightly at Kyle's comforting words. _'You can't promise that, though,' _he thought sadly. Then he steeled his thoughts against thinking like that. _'Maybe not, but I can believe him, and if I want that to be true, I'm going to have to find who tried to kill him in the first place.' _He listened quietly to Kyle telling jokes that weren't proper for young ears and came to a resolve:

_'I'll find whoever hurt Kyle. And when I do… I'll make him pay.'_


	3. Chapter Two: Identity Somewhat Revealed

I do not own South Park. If I did, Stan and Kyle would be gay lovers, and Cartman would be dead.

_**

* * *

Conspiracy – Style**_

Stan sat with Kyle in his office at the White House. The room was spacious and simple, with paintings of previous presidents hanging here and there. Kyle was sitting on a couch he'd had brought in here when he became president next to Stan rambling on and on about different things. Stan, who was well aware how close Kyle was sitting next to him, listened only halfheartedly. His thoughts were elsewhere; namely, they were back at the Lincoln Memorial where Kyle was supposed to give his speech.

Something didn't seem right… Where ever that sniper had been, he should've been able to get a clear shot. But yet the bullet had just caught Kyle's shoulder. Why, in Pray's name, would someone shoot the president but not kill him? Either way, you'd go to jail. You might as well just finish him off; it'd be more worth the time.

Stan mentally shook himself. He could worry about puzzling over the assassin's motives later; right now, he was supposed to be having _fun. _With _Kyle. _If he didn't start listening now, the freckled man was sure to notice his lack of attention before long. _'It's okay, Stan. The police forces are looking for the sniper; you can help them later,' _he told himself as he tuned into Kyle's rambling.

"…so I was wondering if we could go get something to eat?" the raven-haired man heard Kyle say just as he started to actually listen. A little unsure if he'd heard the ginger right, Stan looked blankly at his friend, hoping he'd repeat his question. His lack of understanding obviously shown through and Kyle sighed and repeated, "I asked if we could go get something to eat, Stan. You know, together?"

Stan blinked, then realized what Kyle was saying. A blush crept its way onto his pale cheeks, and he nodded agreeingly. "Uh... Sure, what do you want?" the way-out-of-it man asked as he stood up. He helped Kyle up (because his arm still hurt pretty badly), then wrapped his arm around the ginger's waist protectively as they started out of the room.

"Oh, anything's fine, really," Kyle answered vaguely, shrugging. He reached up and brushed his fiery hair out of his eyes, then looked up at Stan. "Is there anything you want?" His emerald eyes gazed expectantly at his friend, as if he was waiting for a specific answer.

Stan thought for a moment. "Um.. How about… Oh! Is Italian food alright by you? We could get some fettuccini; it's kosher, isn't it?" he asked to be sure that was alright. He didn't understand all these kosher rules and what-not, but he had to abide by them. Kyle was Jewish, and since Kyle was his boss (and friend), he usually had to know what was kosher and what wasn't.

Kyle nodded, meaning that it was.* "Sure, that's cool by me," was all he said as the two stepped outside into the frigid air.

* * *

"You didn't kill him."

"I couldn't get a good enough shot. What the fuck was I supposed to do?"

"You're supposed to be the best in the business!"

"Well, even the best make mistakes."

"Yeah. That's true. And you made a deadly one."

_Crack!_

_ Silence…

* * *

_

Stan reclined back in his seat and patted his belly with content. "Ahhh, that was soo good," he sighed dreamily. Across the table, Kyle was copying Stan's relaxed nature and also rested back on his chair. The pair had just eaten quite a big supper, and their stomachs were filled contently.

"Yeah," Kyle agreed with a smile. "You picked a good restaurant to come to, dude. How'd you find this place?" He looked over at his best friend, expecting a decent-enough explanation. Kyle had never seen this place in the three years he'd been here, so he was curious as to how Stan had found it. I mean, Stan _had _spent more time here than Kyle had.

Stan's cheeks flushed and he adverted his gaze from Kyle's. "A-Ah, we-well," he stammered, trying to think of a way to explain it. Sure, Kyle was his best friend and they could talk about anything, but Stan was socially-awkward when it came to talking about relations. "Um… Y-You see, I-I've worked in D.C. for a while now, s-so I've had lots of relationships. A-And one of my previous boyfriends—"

_Chirp~ Chirp~_

Stan jumped when his phone began to ring, and instinctively reached to silence it. When it didn't shut up when he hit a button, he sighed, looked apologetically at Kyle (who seemed quite amused by the situation), then pulled it out of his pocket. He looked at the caller ID, then flipped his phone open and pressed it to his ear.

"Stanley Marsh, how can I help you?" he asked as soon as the phone was by his ear. He paused to listen, then nodded. "Alright, I'll swing by tomorrow morning and take a look." Another pause as the raven-haired man listened. "No, no. I'm sure he'll be fine without me for an hour." He nodded again, then hung the phone up and returned it to his pocket.

"Who was that, Stan?" Kyle inquired, tilting his head to the side questioningly. His eyes sparkled with curiosity as he waited silently for his friend to fill him in; he'd always been nosey, especially when it came to phone calls. ("I mean, who isn't?")

"That was just the FBI filling in some details. Apparently there was a shooting in downtown D.C., and when the police investigated it, they found a note on the body," Stan explained simply. He rested his chin on the palm of his hand and looked at the ginger. "They asked if I could stop by tomorrow to look at something, so I'm gonna have to leave you alone for about an hour or so."

Kyle nodded understandingly. "'Kay, that's cool by me," he answered. Then his lips quirked into a suggestive smile, and his eyes sparked. "In the meantime, how about we go back to my place and have a bit of fun?"

* * *

Stan stretched out under the thin sheets that covered his and Kyle's bare skin and sighed tiredly. Jesus, how did he get tricked into having sex when he _knew _he had to get up early to stop by the FBI agency? _It must be his seductive smile, _the raven reasoned as he shifted out from underneath his ginger friend. He pulled the sheets back off him, sat up, and was about to stand up when he felt arms slip around his waist.

"Where're you going so early in the morning, Stan?" Kyle asked, yawning as he pulled himself up behind the black-haired man. He nuzzled Stan's neck and pulled his friend back some into his lap, causing the socially-awkward man to blush lightly.

"You know I have to go to the FBI agency," Stan reminded the freckled man. He placed his hands on Kyle's (which had moved up from Stan's waist to his chest) and took them in his own. Then he removed them from his chest and moved to the side so he could stand up. He turned to face Kyle, then knelt down to where he was on his level. "The sooner you let me go, the sooner I'll be back." He flashed a wicked grin. "And the sooner we can have some more fun."

Kyle smiled back at Stan. "Alright, go on then," he agreed. He kissed Stan quickly, then pulled back and grinned mischievously. "What're you waiting for? Go!" He kissed the black-haired man once more, then gave him a gentle shove towards the door.

* * *

"That stupid rat… How _dare _he mock me! With his stupid smugness, and his despisable complete confidence in himself, and his sexiness… I'll get him.

"I'll make him pay for ever existing."

* * *

"The deceased is Kenny McCormick," the FBI agent explained. She had pin-straight black hair with deep brown eyes, and wore a simple, black suit. "We found a note in his pocket that had instructions to shoot the president, so we've assumed that he is the sniper. However…" She stopped outside of the forensics lab and turned to look at Stan. "We think that he was paid to kill Kyle."

Stan looked at the FBI agent with a blank expression. When she didn't explain further, he asked, "Why do you think that, Wendy?" He honestly didn't have a clue to what she was implying. _I've been away from the force for too long, _Stan mused silently.

"Well, the note was signed by someone named 'Mac Trane.'" She started into the lab, Stan in tow. "We searched codas, and there was one hit. Apparently he's from Miami, Florida." She pulled up a picture of Mac Trane, and immediately Stan froze up.

"That's… That's…" Stan fumbled for words, his mind reeling. Then something hit him—Kyle was home alone. And that man could easily get to him.

Stan immediately wheeled around and raced as fast as he could manage out of the FBI headquarters and back towards the White House.

* * *

Finally got this chapter done! x3 HAHA!

I'm sorry it took so long, guys. D: I really am! I just got caught up in the 100 Theme Challenge thing, and then Band Camp… Blech, well, that's the second chapter. =] Tell if you like it or not, please?


	4. Chapter Three: The Final Battle

Well, we have one lucky reviewer! :D She guessed who 'Mac Trane' is correctly, so I am giving kudos to her. Ready? … KUDOS!

Now, she has already gotten her virtual cookie. =] But I'm sure she wouldn't mind another little gift! That's right! It's the final chapter!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own South Park. If I did, Stan and Kyle would be gay lovers, and Cartman would be dead.

* * *

_**Conspiracy – Style**_

"You're coming with me, you filthy rat."

"Ah, but why?"

"Because we're going to put an end to this!"

"W-What? What do you—_mph_!"

"Shut up!" _Slap._ "Do you _want _to prolong this?"

"Mmphm!" _Gasp… Gasp... _"HELP! HELP! SOMEONE'S TRYING TO-!"

_Thud.

* * *

_

Stan rushed into the White House without giving a second-glance to the CIA, FBI, and bodyguards that were trying to stop him.** "**Kyle? Kyle! Kyle, are you in here?" he cried, desperation thick in his voice. He wasn't even gone for an hour… He couldn't've gotten to him so quickly! Oh, God, if anything happened to Kyle…

Stan kicked the door to the President's office open, not even bothering to consider that he could've just as easily pushed it open. He looked frantically around the big room for any sight of the freckled occupant, but didn't come across any clue that would suggest he was there. Panic slowly rising in his chest, Stan hurried down the hall to where he'd spent the previous night to see if Kyle was in there instead.

Again, Stan's searches heeded no results that Kyle was there. However, this time, as he exited the room, his phone began to chirp, signaling a call. Frustratedly, Stan ripped his phone out of his pocket and was about to turn it off when he noticed the caller ID read 'Kyle.'

"Kyle?" Stan nearly shouted into the phone, hope flooding into the speaker with the single word. Oh, thank God Kyle's okay… He must've just gone ou—

"Hello, Stanley."

Stan's blood ran cold. No… No… He _couldn't've _gotten to him! Stan hadn't been gone for much more than a half hour, and he lived on the other side of town. But then again, he did have special clearance, so maybe he'd stayed the night at the White House…. _Oh Jesus, why didn't I check before I left?_

"You were hoping it was Kyle, weren't you?"

Amusement. _Amusement, _of all things, was in his voice. Was this guy some kind of freak? _Wait, of course he is… He kidnapped Kyle, for God's sake._

"Well, I'm sorry, but Kyle is… out of commission at the moment."

Stan's heart sank. Of course Kyle would be unconscious… What was he thinking; that the kidnapper was seriously going to let him speak to Kyle? Idiot! What kidnapper would be that stupid?

Stan shook his head to clear his thoughts, as the man on the other end of the line had started to talk again.

"Of course, if you really want to see him again…"

Immediately that caught the raven-haired man's attention. Was this guy really offering him a chance to save Kyle…?

"…you can meet me alone at abandoned warehouses on the edge of the city." _Click._

Stan shut his phone and sighed. He _really _didn't want to have to go rescue Kyle alone… But love had strange effects on you when the one you cared for most was in peril. Especially when that one had soft red hair, forest green eyes you could get lost in for hours, faint freckles that accentuated a smile that could stretch for miles, and was just all-around perfect in every way.

* * *

Stan shut the ignition to his car off and rested his head on the seat behind him. _Okay, Stan, you have to do this, _he told himself over and over. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. _Kyle would do the same for you, even if he was certain he'd die trying._

That did it. Confidence set, nerves steeled, and mind focused, Stan pulled a .32 caliber semi-automatic pistol from his glove compartment. Now was the time. If he really intended on saving Kyle, which he did, now would be the time to do it.

Taking a deep breath, Stan pushed the door to his car open and climbed out. He cast wary glances in every-which direction ("You can never be too careful.") as he made his way to the entrance to the warehouse. The wind whipped around him noisily, and, after a quick glance to the sky as if in prayer, the black-haired man stepped in out of the on-coming storm.

Immediately, the door behind Stan slammed shut with a loud banging noise, and he wheeled around to see what had done that. With a sigh of relief, he realized that it was simply the wind that had shut the door and not the deranged man who had kidnapped Kyle.

Casting glances around, Stan slowly started to turn from the door once more; one can never be too careful when dealing with a fucked up bastard that would go as far as kidnap the president. Especially when that person who'd kidnapped the president was—

All the thoughts immediately left Stan's mind as something slammed into the back of his head and knocked him out cold.

* * *

_Where am I…?_

_Ugh… My head hurts… What happened?_

A shuffling noise sounded nearby, somewhere to the left. Then a loud bang echoed throughout the building.

_**Cringe.**_

_Uck, why do they have to be so loud?_

_So… tired… I think I'll sleep…

* * *

_

Spots filled Stan's vision as consciousness flooded back to him. Immediately after, a sharp pain split through his skull and nearly knocked him back out. However, the raven-haired man fought to keep that from happening and eventually managed to open his eyes. Once he was able to keep them open enough to see, he looked around at his surroundings. From what he could tell, he was still in the warehouse, and he wasn't tied up—which was odd, considering he was trying to save the president.

_Kyle!_

Stan whipped his head to the side to look for Kyle and immediately pain shot through his head once more. Darkness threatened to overtake him again, and he groaned as he struggled to fight it off. He had to find Kyle… He couldn't pass out… He couldn't… He-

* * *

A soft groan emitted somewhere to the immediate right, causing the other warehouse's occupant's eyes to flutter open. The soft eyes then flickered towards where the sound came from and widened when they registered who was there.

_Stan…?_

_Stan! Oh, dear God, what's he doing here? Doesn't he know that—_

Like Stan before him, all thoughts were knocked from his mind by a blow to the back of the head.

* * *

Sometime later, Stan woke up once more. The pain that had knocked him out earlier had subsided now to an annoying throb at the back of his skull, and he was able to open his eyes without having to fight to do so. Doing just that, he looked up and around—and landed his gaze on the unconscious form of the person he'd come to save.

_Kyle…_

He seemed okay, other than the fact that he was out cold. Taking this as a good sign, Stan made to get up—but immediately stopped when he heard the sound of a gun cocking right behind him.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Stanley," someone warned coolly. "Not if you want to live, anyways…" A smirk crept into the voice at this point, and Stan felt certain that the person he was dealing with was completely insane.

_But of course he is… _a small voice whispered in the raven-haired man's ear. Stan—knowing full well that it wasn't a voice and just a figment of his imagination—tried to ignore it. Nonetheless, it continued to voice his thoughts._ I mean, he plans on killing the president…_

_No! _Stan shook his head vehemently. He wouldn't allow that! Even if it meant he died, he would _not _let this bastard win. There was no way in Hell he was going to let _him _beat him! Slowly, so slowly, the raven-haired turned around to face who had the gun pointed at him, and a smug smile crept onto his face—he knew he was going to win. He had no idea how, but he knew he would.

_Click click click. _The kidnapper clucked his tongue at the smirk. "Stanley, Stanley, Stanley…" he murmured. "Don't you know who you're going up against?" His hazel eyes connected with Stan's sapphire ones, and a grin split his lips. "Oh, but of course you do! I mean, I _am _the vice-president, after all." A bellow erupted through the air, echoing off the walls, and the kidnapper spread is arms. "But I'll be president soon! Oh, how I long to be president!" He leaned forward towards Stan, a smug smirk on his face. "How does Mr. Eric Cartman: The First Presidential Dictator of America sound to you, Stanley?"

The thought horrified Stan, but he didn't say so—best to play along with him—and instead faked a smile and replied: "Oh, that has such a nice ring to it. But… Don't you think that, if you kill Kyle, you won't become president?" Cartman merely chuckled at such a ridiculous notion, and Stan's smile faltered.

"Oh, Stanley, you really _do _need to go back to force some time." Cartman sat back and crossed his arms confidently across his torso. "You see, dear Stanley, they won't _find out _that I killed Kyle. You know why?" Stan shook his head no, and that just seemed to add to Cartman's arrogance. "Because I'm going to kill both Kyle _and _you!" At this, he laughed so heartily and happily, it made shivers run up Stan's spine.

Several plans ran through Stan's mind all at once—most of which ended with both him and Kyle ending up dead before they reached the door. _Oh, dear God, please help us out of here… _he prayed silently as he tried to think up a way to escape.

* * *

_Voices…_

_Voices… That's what I hear. Voices._

_What're they talking about, anyways? _

_. . ._

_Maybe I ought to wake up…

* * *

_

Both Stan and Cartman snapped their gaze to Kyle when they heard him stir. "Kyle?" Stan whispered, his voice cracking slightly with hope. _Is he finally waking up…? _

"Ugh…" Kyle groaned, shifting slightly in his seat. His eyes fluttered open to reveal emerald eyes dulled with pain. "Oh man, my head hurts…" He attempted to reach up, but as his arms were tied up, he couldn't do so. With a sigh of defeat, he turned his head to face Stan and Cartman, a look of perplexion on his face. "Stan…?" he croaked, his mouth seemingly too dry to say anything more.

"Kyle…" Stan immediately leapt up and made a move to hug Kyle, but the sharp snap of a gun cocking stopped him, and he turned to face Cartman again instead. "Cartman, you don't want to do this," he murmured, trying to talk some sense into the obviously mentally-insane man.

Cartman cocked an eyebrow as if to say, "Oh really?" and laughed. "You really think that, Stanley?" he asked. He spread his arms, gesturing to the setting around him. "I've already pretty much gone all the way through with this. What's stopping me now? You?" He snorted. "As if _you _could stop _me._"

Stan glanced over at Kyle, who had his green eyes trained on him the whole while, and something inside him seemed to grow. He didn't know what it was—he'd never felt it before, after all—but he knew what he had to do: He had to kill Cartman, if only to save Kyle. Placing this thought in his mind, a scheme began to form:

If he could get the gun from Cartman, and somehow knock him down long enough to retrieve it, then he could kill the bastard. But that plan rode solely on his reflexes and how closely Cartman was paying attention. And, considering his reflexes were slowed and Cartman was paying _very _close attention, this plan would take a miracle to achieve.

But you gotta do you what you gotta do.

"Cartman… What do you plan to do after you become presidential dictator?" Stan ventured hesitantly, trying to buy himself time. If he could get him started on this, maybe, just maybe…

A wicked grin split across the vice-president's face now. How wonderful it was that he'd been asked that… "Oh, wouldn't you like to know, dear, Stanley?" …Not like he was going to answer, though. It was obvious that fool of a bodyguard was trying to divert his attention to something else so that he could escape with his precious president. How could he fall for such a foolhardy gest as that?

Despair flooded into Stan as soon as he realized Cartman wasn't going to fall for any of his tricks. How could've he had thought that? _Idiot! _Cartman was too smart for that! I mean, he had outwitted an ex-CIA agent, for Christ's sake. If you could do that, how would you fall for a petty trick that was seen in every superhero movie?

Stan tried to think up another way to get the gun from the psycho man that had captured both him and Kyle. But, sadly, nothing came to mind. Except for just attacking him. But Cartman was nearly twice the size of Stan, so that was out. _Unless…_

Thinking quickly, Stan stood up and kicked his chair towards Eric. When the fat man tried to jump out of the way, Stan booted his old football instincts back into gear and tackled him to the ground. As he did this, the gun was sent flying through the air and landed with a sharp clang a few feet away. However, neither of the two noticed this, as both were still wrestling for dominance.

Eventually Cartman ended up overpowering Stan—obviously because of his grander weight—and had the black-haired agent pinned beneath him. The brunette kidnapper grinned down at his prey and drew back his fist to hit him. Stan, seeing this, tried to wiggle his way out from under the large man—much to no avail. However, he did worm his way out enough to where he could reach the gun he'd sent soaring across the room.

Stan closed his hand around the gun, and, all thoughts flooding from his mind, lifted the gun and aimed it point-blank at Cartman's chest. The sight of this—with the gun shaking slightly, and Stan's breath coming in gasps—merely made him smile out of amusement. What did this joke of a bodyguard think he was doing? As if he—

_Bang._

"What—?" Cartman managed to croak out just before his heart stopped beating and his eyes glazed over. He fell forward, towards Stan, and it took all the black-haired man's might to push the dead body off him.

When he was finally up and was able to keep his balance, Stan turned to look at Kyle, his blue eyes wide. Sure, he's an ex-CIA agent, but he'd never really _killed _a man point-blank before, much less one when he thought he could trust. It was different when the person you had killed was someone you had joked around with at one point.

"Stan…" Kyle whispered, snapping the bodyguard out of his thoughts. Remembering that the Jew was still tied up, he hurried over and hastened to undo the ropes. He looked up, and when his sapphire eyes connected with Kyle's forest-green ones, his heart skipped a beat and he couldn't help but think that he may've never seen those eyes again. "Stan, what are you doing here?"

This took Stan off-guard. "A-Ah…" he stammered. He felt his cheeks flush, and he tried to think up an excuse. "W-Well, you see, y-you went missing, and I-I got this call from Cartman, a-and he said to meet him here if I ever wanted to see you again…" His words stumbled over his tongue and jumbled together, making it hard for the red-haired president to understand them.

"Stan, slow down," Kyle soothed. He placed his hands on either side of the bodyguard's cheeks and stared into his eyes for a short moment, then he leaned forward and caught the man's lips in his own. He held the kiss for a few very long moments (or so it seemed to Stan) then pulled back and looked at Stan once more. "I know why you're really here, so quit jabbering and just kiss me." And with that, the two locked lips once more as rain pattered on the roof and sirens wailed in the background.

* * *

"_And now! For the president of the United States of America!"_

Cheers echoed wildly through the air as the announcer stepped back to allow the forty-eighth president to take the podium. The president—a pale, lanky, red-haired man—waved to the crowd, a grin plastered on his freckled face, as he stepped up to the microphone. This time, though, nothing interrupted him as he started to speak.

"My fellow Americans," Kyle began confidently. "I call you here today to tell you some very important news." He paused for a moment and glanced back at Stan as he waited for the wild cheering to calm down. Once it had, he continued: "I have recently become engaged." More wild cheering ensued, and eventually calmed down after several long moments. "And I would like to inform you that my fiancé is Stanley Marsh, my friend of many years and also the person who saved my life."

Stan, who was standing with the other bodyguards, blushed madly, but stepped up next to Kyle nonetheless and smiled at the crowd. Then, in a moment of boldness, he hooked his arms around Kyle's torso and brought him into a dip and kissed him.

* * *

THERE. DONE. FINALLY. AFTER _SO _MANY HOURS OF WORKING ON THIS.

Ugh, this took forever and then some to complete. D: So, I am sorry for the delay! But, I really hope you like this. So, please review and tell me what ya think.


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